Neverland
by Lauren the Oxymoron
Summary: Back in civilization things aren't as great as they are supposed to be. AU. CC JK
1. Prologue

Title: The Magical World of Civilization  
Rating: PG-13  
Pairing: Charlie/Claire and Jack/Kate  
Summary: Back in civilization, things aren't as great as they are supposed to be.  
Warnings: Nothing so far...  
Status of fic: Work in progress...I'll continue if there's enough response.  
Disclaimer: I don't own Lost. If I did, I wouldn't be writing about it.  
A/N: I've had this idea for the longest time and I finally sat down and wrote it out. I have lots of ideas on where to go with this, but I haven't got anything else written down yet. If I get enough response, I'll definitely continue, but I warn you, I'm a slow updater!

Prologue

Civilization. For months it was the equivalent of Never land, Oz, any magical place where people were happy and everything was perfect. Now that it was here, the only word that Claire associated it with was hell. Was this really the fairy tale land that she had prayed for, dreamed of, longed to be? Thomas was fighting for custody, Claire was penniless and had two to care for and Charlie had disappeared like fog in the afternoon sun. In fact, everyone had disappeared. Claire wondered if they were all together somewhere, leaving her on the outside and laughing as she scrambled to make a semblance of a life for herself. Claire shook her head and chastised herself for thinking like a self conscious, paranoid 12 year old. Still, the evasive question lingered. Where was everyone?

* * *

Kate pressed her forehead against the cool window and closed her eyes. She tried to let the low hum of the wheels speeding along the road and the raindrops speckling the window lull her to sleep, but it was no use. The voice at the back of her mind wouldn't let her rest.

_You just made the biggest mistake of your life, Kate._

She opened her eyes, when they were closed she was all alone with her thoughts. She looked at the window. The black night made it opaque, so all that she saw was her reflection filling up the window. Little rivulets of rain ran across her face, making it look like she was crying.

_How appropriate,_ she couldn't help but think dryly.

She sighed exasperatly and closed her eyes again. She'd rather be alone with her thoughts than watch the cruel metaphor of the window. Forcing all the thoughts out of her head she fell into a shallow sleep where she dreamed of a woman drowning in a river of guilt and tears.

* * *

Jack was at his desk, finishing up some paperwork. The clock on his desk had bright red numbers that read 2:41 AM. Here was Jack, dressed in his usual blue scrubs with the white coat over top, sitting in his neat (if somewhat dusty) office, working late. It was as if his whole experience on the island hadn't happened, it was just some bizarre dream and the next day he got up and went about things as normal. His boss had offered to let Jack take at least a week off of work, but Jack refused, saying that he spent six months on a tropical island and it only cost him a couple hundred, the cheapest and longest vacation he had ever had. After all that time off, he didn't need another week. What a load of crap. Living on that island, vacation? Anything but! Still, Jack was glad to be at work, it gave him something to do, to keep him preoccupied...to make him forget temporarily.

* * *

Charlie rolled over and looked at the clock. 3:17 AM. He sighed and sat up, giving up on trying to sleep. He tried to tell himself that it was nothing unusual, he had never been much of a sleeper. The heroin, coupled with the alcohol and women usually kept his mind and body busy. But now he was clean, and he couldn't pin his insomnia on any three of those things. In the back of his mind, he know what it was. But Charlie had always been good at denying and burying things.

Charlie swung his legs over the bed and buried his toes deep into the plush carpet of his hotel room. What was there to do at 3:30 AM in the city of Sydney? He pulled on a pair of jeans and the T-shirt he wore the day before. Grabbing his coat, wallet and key, he left the room. There was bound to be a bar open somewhere, and anywhere was better than his hotel room, where he was left with nothing but the silence and the undeniable truth he was trying so desperately to run away from.


	2. Kate

Disclaimer- See Prologue

A/N- An update from Lauren? Is the world coming to an end? Most likely. When I said that I'm a slow updater, I really didn't mean THIS slow! So I'm really sorry for this chapter that is long in coming. This chapter is also unforgivably short, but I had to post, so that people didn't think I was dead or terminally ill. I hope that I haven't lost all of my readers, since I really appreciate the feedback and I couldn't do this without all of you. I really want to continue this story, I think it may have potential, so hopefully you'll be hearing more from me...and hopefully in a more timely fashion.

* * *

It was sunlight hours now, and the bright light spilled into the pickup that Kate was sitting in. She stared out of the window, determinedly not looking at the driver of the truck. She tried to focus her complete concentration on the scenery flying past her. The world was a beautiful palette of every imaginable color, and there was an amazing clarity to them. The birds chirped and whistled cheerfully, the trees' leaves rustled as a gentle wind played with them, people were out and smiling and stopping to talk with one another, and the sun beat down, coating the world with a gorgeous gleen. But no matter how happy and brilliant the day was, Kate couldn't shake off her somber mood. Her thoughts still drifted back to Jack and how she had left him so abruptly, with no preamble. What was he thinking? What was he doing? Did he understand? Did he forgive her? Certainly, he was upset, but knowing Jack, Kate assumed that he was out saving the world, trying to make up for not being able to save her.

"Turn here," Kate said to the driver, not turning her head to look at him. Eye contact would be dangerous, her eyes were no doubt overflowing with information that she didn't want to let out, she would hardly admit it to herself. If she didn't let it out, maybe it wasn't true, she thought to herself, sounding like a little girl in denial that her cat was dead.

The driver obliged and soon they were on a dirt road, heading into the pastoral part of the town. Kate had missed it here, she really had. It was a place that she had actually called home, but never out loud. Seeing all the familiar scenery gave her paings of nostalgia and almost pushed away all thoughts of Jack. But nothing on the earth was strong enough to complete erase the thoughts of Jack. Except maybe death, but Kate had her doubts.

They were drawing near to the one place that Kate had found the loving embrace of safety, and she was becoming surprisingly giddy and eager to see the one that had opened his arms to her. A rusty, unfamiliar smile started to appear on her face, but it wasn't a smile that was completely carefree. Always, the thought of Jack and her remorse hung heavy on her heart, so that her smile was a sad one. She wondered now if she would ever feel free, to laugh just for the hell of it, to be happy. She'd thought she found her sweet release in Jack, but as soon as they were dropped back into civilization, she was off and running. She was punishing herself, she knew it. She ran because she knew that Jack deserved better than her. She was a wanted criminal and Jack was an upstanding doctor. It would never have worked out, and if it had, she would be seen as another one of Jack's charity cases, and she didn't know if she could stand that. But as of now, she would be willing to grin and bear it, because being away from him was worse.

"It's this one," she said, pointing to the old farmhouse on their left, still refusing to meet the eyes of the man opposite of her. They turned into the driveway and gravel crunched beneath the tires. Kate hastily unbuckled herself and threw herself against the door to get out. She leapt out of the car and slammed the door, starting towards the house earnestly. She stopped short however, when she noticed how unkempt the garden and house were and how the animals were suspiously missing. She barely registered the sound of the door slamming and the crunch of someone walking up behind her, as she unwillingly came to realize that he hadn't gotten his money to pay off his mortgage.

"Don't look like anyone's home, Freckles."

* * *

A/N- This chapter seems a little all over the place and pointless, but hopefully it wasn't too unbearable. The next chapter should be longer. Oh, in case you are interested, and I plan on dividing the chapter between the four characters, at least for a little while.

Please review and I promise a more punctual update next time!

-Lauren


	3. Claire

Disclaimer- See Prologue

A/N- Wow, I got this one out in a somewhat prompt manner. Go me! My Muse visited me today and this one came out quite easily and longer than my last update. And I rather like it. I think that's about all for this update.

I wrote a Harry Potter fic called The Storm Breaks. It needs a little love, a.k.a. reviews. Go check it out, it's not that awful!

* * *

Claire sunk deep into her bed, wrapping her warm fluffy comforter around her small body. Nothing could quite give Claire the same feeling of satisfaction and comfort as her bed's warm embrace. It had been the thing that she had missed most on the island, save peanut butter, obviously. Sighing, she nuzzled into her pillow and closed her heavy eyes. 

She had just spent the last two hours trying to soothe her wailing baby. Nursing him, rocking him, changing his diaper, singing to him, none of it seemed to work. It had usually been Charlie who had the magic ability to get Aaron to sleep on the island, which was full of roaring monsters, apocalyptic storms and fighting people. Trying to get him to sleep in a nice, quiet apartment would be nothing to him. Perhaps that was why Aaron couldn't sleep now? Maybe he had grown accustomed falling asleep while listening to the calamities of the island and now there was only the stifling silence surrounding him, confusing and upseting him. Of course, it probably didn't help much that he was also used to it being Charlie's arms rocking him and Charlie's voice singing him a lullaby.

Claire grumbled in chastisement to herself. She had to expel all thoughts of Charlie, no matter how glorious or happy or peaceful the thoughts of him might be. Because in the end, he turned out to be just like all the other men in Claire's life. Absent.

She snuggled yet deeper into her loving bed and threw the blanket over her head, as if she was hiding herself from the thoughts of Charlie and all the other men in her life. They were distracting her from her much needed and well earned sleep. After screaming and crying for two hours, Aaron's tiny body finally tired itself out. Claire hope that he would be sleeping for longer then his usual three hour increments, because lack of sleep was really catching up with Claire.

It was nearing the early morning, and Claire knew that she should probably be getting up and starting her day; there was so much she needed to do. She had to clean up the wreck of an apartment she was calling home, she had to eat and get something for Aaron for breakfast, but most of all she needed to find a job. The consolation check that Oceanic had given all the survivors had gotten her this apartment and the sparse furniture that decorated it, groceries, new clothes for herself and Aaron, and some baby paraphernalia. Her money was quickly dwindling and she was in major need of a source to aquire some more. But she didn't have anyone to watch Aaron and she figured bringing her baby into her interview with her potential employer didn't leave the best impression. Not to mention that her resume probably wasn't the most spectacular, as all of her previous jobs were as waitresses and her skills were mostly how to make a diaper out of boar's skin and other such survival related things which really weren't that necessary in the workplace.

And always, there was the looming threat of Thomas over Claire's head. He was persuing custody of Aaron, and he was relentless until he got what he wanted. He had been leaving tons of messages on her machine for her to call him so they could talk about what to do and how to proceed with the custody issue. But Claire erased every single one of them, never returning any of them. She was in the childish state of mind that if she closed her eyes, plugged her ears and hummed to herself Thomas would simply go away. So far she had had no luck because everyday the number of messages increased. She knew that eventually she would have to face Thomas and talk it out with him, but for now she was trying to hold onto her son, the only man in her life who so far hadn't left her.

_Charlie would have stayed...if only... _Claire stopped herself short, shutting her eyes tight, trying to shut out the memory of the last time she saw him. A tear slipped down her cheek and she brushed it away quickly. Suddenly the warmth of her bed seemed to be missing.

The loud, annoying sound of someone knocking on her front door provided Claire with a way to abandon her empty bed and thoughts. She got out of her bed and quickly pulled on something more decent. She was so happy to have something to avert her concentration, she didn't stop to think that no one would be visiting her unless it was someone she didn't want to see, or notice that the knocks were loud and angry.

However, as soon as she opened the door, she noticed all the signs that she had missed. Her excitement and smile dropped within a split second of looking upon the face of her unexpected visitor, and Aaron's cries from the other room definitely didn't help the matter.

Without giving even a second thought to it, Claire shut the door, trying to push him out of her life and hope that this time he stayed out. But either he was too quick for her or he had expected something like this to happen, because he put his foot in front of the doorjamb so that it was impossible for Claire to shut the door. Not that she didn't try.

"Claire, let's be rational now!" he said, trying to use his shoulder to defeat Claire in her attempt to amputate his foot. But they say that when a mother's child is in a potentially dangerous situation, her adrenaline gives her the strength of twenty men, and apparently Claire saw this as a potentially dangerous situation.

But eventually it was her own child that was her demise. He had been rudely awaken by Thomas' entrance and having only been asleep a few minutes after crying for two hours straight, he was quite ornery, as was his mother.

"Great, now I'll never get him to sleep again!" she cried exasperatly at Thomas, who had taken it upon himself to enter her apartment. She went into the other room to go get Aaron and try to get him calm down.

"Shh...shh, it's okay Aaron," she said gently, rocking him softly in her arms. Thomas looked down at Aaron in a loving yet hesitant way, as if he wanted to hold him, but was either too scared to touch him or to ask Claire. Either way, Claire didn't like it, so she moved Aaron so that he was resting on her shoulder.

"Well, what can we do for you, then?" Claire asked rudely.

"I just want to talk about all this, Claire. About Aaron and what we are going to do about the custody," Thomas said, as he had said in nearly all of his messages. It was almost like he was a robot programmed to only say that one thing.

"As far as I can see, there is no issue concerning the custody of Aaron! He's my child, only my child!" Claire responded, immediately getting upset at this conversation and going into caveman mode. Any more of his antics or unwanted contact and she thought that she really might start beating him around the head with a club.

"Can we please just do this civily, Claire?" he said, giving her the uneasy feeling that he had been reading her thoughts. "How bout I take youand the little oneout to eat and we can talk about it over our breakfast?" Thomas suggested, but by his tone he seemed to be pleading with her.

Claire hesitated. She really didn't want to get into this right now, but she couldn't avoid it any longer. Plus, she didn't know if there was really anything left for her to eat for breakfast and she had skipped dinner the night before. Sighing, she nodded, dropping her gaze to the ground.

"Great, let's get going then."

* * *

A/N- Sorry it cut off sort of strangely, but it was originally going to end before Thomas got there. And I never really said it was Thomas, but I figured everyone assumed it was him. Umm...yeah, that's all. Leave a review please! 

-Lauren


	4. Jack

Disclaimer- In Prolouge

A/N- As I always seem to start out my chapter with, I must apologize for the unforgivable wait for this chapter. School started up again and I didn't have any time to write. I am deeply sorry. I really like this story, I think it has lots of potential and I really want to continue it. I promise that there will be more updates, I just can never be sure when they will be.

That being said, I don't know if I like this chapter or not. I've never been able to relate to Jack and find him difficult to write. That's the main reason why it's so short. Also there isn't much Jack/Kate interaction or even talking about Jate, but I had to get a storyline up for Jack. And I'm not sure if what I did works or not. So, I'm sorry if I totally murdered the character of Jack. Let me know what you think in review form.

* * *

Jack walked down the white, deserted hallway briskly. He breathed in the sterile smell of the hospital, the clean smell that he had always known and loved. Somehow it had made him feel safe; it was a constant, the smell he knew as a child that was threaded through all of his father's shirts, as he knew was now threaded through all of his. It had become the smell of his adulthood as well, the smell of the place where he had spent so many hours and saved so many lives. Throughout the tumult of his life, this safe, pure smell never changed. 

And that was about the only comfort in Jack's life anymore.

Because the smell of the hospital was about all that was the same about it anymore. In Jack's absense, the hospital -- his hospital -- had gone through many changes. New nurses sat behind the desk, younger doctors were in the operating room, there was even a new west wing. The changes left Jack isolated and mourning the time he had spent in the hospital he knew, the relationships he had lost to it, and his own identity which had been swallowed up by it.

His opinion on this newer, younger hospital had changed so much that he wasn't even sure himself what he thought about it anymore. At first he had hated it, he had seen it as an enemy that had killed his beloved friend, and himself with it. Then Jack saw it as a hopeful ideal -- that if an institution as old as the hospital could change and be the better for it, then so could he. He couldn't love it yet, but he could respect it. After she had left, on that upsetting blue Monday, Jack reveled in the hospital, letting it drown out the despairing loneliness with work and the bustle of the day. He fell back into his old schedule of grueling days and late nights. He now accepted the new hospital, got to know the new faces, the new hallways and rooms, and was once again all about his work, leaving no room for anything -- or anyone -- else.

However, there was one change that Jack would never accept.

"Jack!" Came the voice he dreaded as he entered his office. To his utmost annoyance, she sat behind his desk as if it were her own.

"Dr. Walsh," Jack responded stiffly and formally.

In his six month absense, the hospital had Dr. Marie Walsh to replace him as their spinal specialist. He knew he should have expected them to hire someone new -- after all, he was believed to have been dead -- it just came as a shock when he came back, that the hospital he had been so dedicated to, that he had sacrificed so much for, could replace him so easily.

And of all the people to replace him with, they had to choose Dr. Marie Walsh. She was a young doctor, only 26, and two years younger than Jack had been when he started to practice; she mostly chose high-profile cases and attracted a lot of attention. In all of her hundreds of surgeries she had only lost a handful of her patients. She always had somewhere to be and had no time to talk to Jack, who she treated as someone beneath her. She had taken his office while he was gone, but hadn't had the time to call Jack's mother to clean it out. She now saw it as her office. She was loved by patients and coworkers alike, adored by Jack's boss, and a saint in the eyes of the public who always caught wind of her miraculous surgeries. She was also gorgeous, with a tiny, lithe figure, wild black curls and hazy blue eyes. To top it off she was a vegitarian.

There had been friction between Dr. Walsh and Jack ever since they first met, and Jack walked into his old, familiar office, only to see her behind his desk reading one of his case studies. Immediately accusations were made and Jack's stubborn nature was up against her wiry strength. As soon as she had told him who she was, he felt that she should step down, and he would become the top spinal surgeon, a title that had been his almost as long as he had been at the hospital. Dr. Walsh, however, felt that the title belonged to her, as she had held it for the past six months. Their boss intervened, giving them the unwelcome news that they would be working together. He had given Dr. Walsh a new office, but she insisted that she had Jack's, and Jack would not give it up. So, they still worked in the same office, and it was a sore subject between the two -- that is, a subject that was sorer then the rest of their issues.

They were civil with one another, and most of their battles were fought with smiles and words that seemed warm, but were barbed with malice. Jack doubted that the two of them could ever bridge their differences and actually work with one another, so he had learned to deal with Dr. Walsh's presense, usually by just avoiding it.

"So listen, Jack, I've been reading your Tessman case, the one with the young boy that has the large tumor on his L-4 vertebrae, do you remember?" Dr. Walsh said hurriedly.

"Of course I remember, Dr. Walsh," Jack said, but he wasn't remembering the young Tessman boy at all. Rather, he was remembering standing at a crude operating table, looking down on an older man that was inflicted with exactly the same condition.

She took no notice of Jack's reply and said over top of him, bluntly, "I want it."

"No," Jack responded easily, without a second's thought.

"But, Jack, when I was an intern, I did an operation just like this one. It's a difficult operation, and I know that I can do it. This boy is young, his condition is severe. He needs to go into this operation knowing that he will come out again."

"Are you implying that he wouldn't come out of it alive if I was the one holding the scalpel?" Jack said, annoyance etched into every syllable.

"Jack, you know that's not what I'm saying. You are a brilliant surgeon, if anyone knows this, I do. I read a lot of your case studies while you were gone, and there was no one in your league at that time. But I know that I can save this kid, and I want to have this chance to prove to you that I can. It'll be one of the hardest surgeries that I've ever performed to this date, but I know I can do it."

Jack hesitated, looking down at this small force of nature. He remembered looking down at the still body of Ben five months ago, holding the scalpel steady in his hand, about to start the same operation the Tessman boy would need, on a man he didn't know whether to call friend or enemy. He remembered looking across the operating table at Juliet, her eyes inscrutable. He remembered making that first incision, knowing all the while what he had to do to save the woman who he loved, but had been betrayed by.

Thinking of her, he stuttered out a reply that came as a shock to Dr. Walsh. "Sure, you can have the case."


	5. Charlie

Disclaimer- In Prologue... as always

A/N- I tried so hard to get this chapter up last night, but my document manager was not working, much to my dismay. But it worked today, and even one day later I think that it is still my most punctual update. Woohoo, go me!

This chapter is short, like all the others, but I personally like this one. I've always loved the character of Charlie and the dynamic relationship between him and his brother. Let me know what you think.

* * *

Charlie stood on the sidewalk in the middle of the suburbian jungle, looking at the large white house, nearly identical to the one next to it, remembering the last time he had seen it. He could hear the echo of his angry voice floating over time on the light breeze of the morning.

_You did this to me! It was about the music! Music, Liam. You took that away from me..._

Charlie wasn't sure how long he had been standing here, staring at his brother's house, torn between whether he should run inside and hug his brother or throw a rock at the window, hopefully shattering his brother's perfect life in the same blow.

He still loved and hated his brother in the contradictory way of siblings. He couldn't help but love Liam, he was his older brother; the person that he had looked up to in his younger years, before he knew better; the person he could depend on to get him out of trouble, be it with bullies, teachers, parents or friends. In the early years of their childhood, Charlie had positively adored Liam. But as they started to grow up, the perfect image Charlie held of Liam started to fade. It seemed as if all the ideals that Liam had when Charlie was a child were starting to become warped. Or maybe it was just that Charlie's perception of Liam changed now that he was older. Whatever it was, Charlie no longer saw Liam as a demigod. As Charlie's interest in music blossomed and became a near obsession, throwing him under the label "outcast" by his fellows mates at school, Charlie began to get a more acute picture of his brother. And what he saw he didn't like. The brother that he once thought was so strong and independent was now a weak person that went along with the crowd to hide his own insecurity. He was someone who would bully someone who was younger because of the rush he got to feel his authority over someone smaller than him. He was a brownnoser who never got in trouble so long as he flashed one of his charming, deceiving smiles. Charlie was glad that his brother never acknowledged him in secondary school, because, quite frankly, Charlie was embarrassed of him.

Charlie agreed to the contract with Liam solely because of his mother. His mother believed in him and said that his musical talent would save them. Though his music hadn't saved her, he was damned if he wasn't going to save Liam and his father for her. Unforetunately, the thing that was supposed to save him ended up being his undoing. Liam succumbed to the numbness of the alcohol, groupies and drugs in order to get away from the mistakes he had made. Eventually the stress of writing all the songs, touring around the world, taking the interviews, recording the albums and looking after his idle brother became too much, and Liam's sin pulled Charlie down into the darkness with him. Liam mooched off Charlie, stealing his time, his money and his talent.

Yet here Charlie stood, dispite all of the past disappointments, broken promises and bitter hatred, wanting to run into his brother's house, hug him and forgive him. Charlie knew now, from the tough lessons of the island and the even more inflexible regime of Locke, that he could never find closure by harboring this enmity towards his brother; he would only find peace of mind through forgiveness. But though he knew he needed the release of forgiveness, he still felt a deep river of rage overflowing inside of him. He couldn't step back into his brother's life and forgive him, just like that. He needed time to recuperate, to heal, to talk to his brother and tell him how betrayed he felt and then, finally, to forgive.

Charlie took in every detail of the house. It was the house had envisioned as a child, the perfect family house, the white house with the green shutters and the wraparound porch that he had dreamed so vividly about, the house that he had wanted to own with his wife and children and to live out his happily ever after in. Charlie couldn't help but feel there was a great injustice that it should be Liam who now had this life, the ne'er-do-well who had brought everyone down in his own ruin, almost killing himself, his brother and his band mates in the process.

But looking at this house, his brother's home, brought out a curious new pain. The pain of coming so close, to actually believing that he would have this life. On the island, Charlie would always fantasize about taking Claire and Aaron and going to live in the house of his childhood hopes. Now he didn't know where she was, who she was with, or whether she missed him as painfully as he missed her.

The light breeze picked up, whipping around his face and chapping his wet cheeks. Charlie wiped the back of his wrist over his face unabashedly. There was no one watching him, and so great was the well of pain, loneliness and anger in his chest that it wouldn't have mattered to him anyway.

There was a loud clatter and bang as the front door of the house swung open and then shut behind Liam's lean figure. For awhile, the two brothers stared at each other, Liam on the top of the porch, Charlie on the sidewalk. Liam blanched and gaped at his brother, as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing, while Charlie bit back his anger and tears and glared at his brother. Slowly, in a trance, Liam stepped down from his porch and towards his estranged brother.

"You never looked out for me, Liam. You said you would look out for me, you said that you wouldn't let me get lost in it!" Charlie said, bile raising up in his voice already choked by suppressed tears.

"You were dead. Charlie, they said you were dead!" Was Liam's reply; confusion, relief, devastation, and remorse laced through his voice.

"I was! You killed me, Liam!" Charlie responded angrily, his voice cracking as he felt a pain in his chest as if someone had stepped on his heart and snapped it like a twig.

Liam cringed visibly. "Why don't you come in, Charlie?" he said gently, his voice humbled by his brother's anger.

Charlie shook his head mutely. "No. No, I can't. I don't belong in there," he answered and turned his back on his only brother.


	6. Kate 2

Disclaimer: In Prologue

A/N: I know. I suck. Majorly. I was going to condemn this story to death, but I read through it first and realized that I couldn't do that. Not yet anyway. So, I understand if I have 0 readers left. My fault. Sorry.

* * *

Working with Sawyer, Kate easily got into the abandoned house. It looked untouched, the only difference being the thin layer of dust that covered everything. She slowly walked through the house she hadn't seen in months, Sawyer following behind her. She could feel the despair and lonliness working its way up her throat. This had been her only chance, her only hope of finding someone she could be at peace with. This was the only place she could find something that felt remotely like home, like family. The echo of her footsteps muffled by the dust covering the floor echoed in her equally empty heart. Her throat was seizing up and her breath was becoming ragged. All her emotions -- her frustration, pain, embarrassment, shame, regret, and self-resentment -- were finally catching up with her.

She paused at the threshold of her old bedroom, leaning against the doorjamb to regain her composure. She couldn't lose control, not in front of Sawyer.

But the thought of Sawyer just intensified her heartache. How could she have done this? Why did she do this? What must Jack think of her? How could she have done this to him again?

_Because you are a destroyer_, said a small voice in her mind that sounded like poison. _You only know how to wreck things, to kill them, murder them... blow them away. _

A strangled sob escaped her, which she tried desperately to suppress. She couldn't do this. Not with him. He had to leave.

"Whoa, steady, Freckles," came his voice from behind her. He put a hand on her arm, she supposed he thought it would comfort her. Instead she felt like brushing it off, scourging him off of her. She didn't want him or his touch or his comfort. "Don't lose your head, Sweet Cheeks. This place is perfect. There's obviously no one living here or keeping it up, it's in the middle of nowhere, funished and just waiting for us to hide out in it. Granted, it's a little dusty."

Kate just shook her head vehemently, she didn't trust herself to talk. No, this place wasn't perfect. Not with him here.

"I'll go find us something to eat," he said, rubbing her arm with his hand and then leaving her. She was vaguely aware of hearing him get into his truck and driving off. Slowly pulling a little of herself back together, she continued her tour of the empty house.

Eventually she made her way to the kitchen, and into the little pantry. Leaning up, she felt for the panel. She wasn't quite sure why she was doing it, there was nothing there. In her mind, she wrote it off as nostalgia, trying to recapture what had been lost. Finding it, she lifted it away. She looked at it, the small secret compartment that had been the only bit of the house she had considered her own. She had always loved secret compartments as a child, secret places to hide from Wayne, anywhere that was her own private sanctuary that no one else could cheapen or vilify, someplace she could be alone and peaceful. It had probably been an early warning sign of the life she now led, but at the time it had seemed natural and perfect. She wished that she could go back to her child self and warn her that as peaceful as secret hideouts were, they were also unbearably lonely. Looking into this secret compartment, she gave a small start when she saw that it was not empty, as she thought it would be.

Reaching in, she took out its contents -- a lonely letter that had her name on the front. Well, the name he knew her as.

She took the letter out of its unsealed envelope, hoping for details of where he was, what had happened to him, some comfort and closure knowing that his betrayal had at least paid off his mortgage.

_Annie,_

_The top story in the news today is that Oceanic Flight 815 crashed. I heard about it at the bank today, while I was paying my mortgage. I didn't pay any attention to it at first, but then I heard the list of people on the plane. I didn't particularly care about the story, but as with most disasters, you can't help but watch it with some interest. They started with all of the "important" people that had been on the plane. A washed up rock star, a renowned surgeon, a lottery winner. And then they talked about a wanted criminal that had been on the plane. And it was you. Annie, I don't think I can ever really convey how I'm feeling, must less on paper. You know that. In your time staying and working with me, you know how much we talked about feelings. Never. We didn't really talk about much, but I could tell that you were pretty beat up. Maybe we should have talked more, but I don't think that words hold much for either of us. We are probably more alike than either of us are willing to admit. I guess the main thing I feel like I have to say is that I'm sorry. We were companions, coworkers, friends, and at the end of our time together I'd even begun to think of you as a daughter. When I saw the wanted sign for you at the post office, you don't know how difficult it was for me to turn you in. If it hadn't been for the reward and my mortgage that needed to be paid off, I wouldn't have done it. But even then, if I'd have known then that I was turning you in to be killed in an airplane crash, I wouldn't have done it. I'd never have done it. I'm so sorry, Annie. I loved you, and I killed you. I only ask that you forgive me, if you can read this from wherever you ended up, so that maybe I can forgive myself. _

_Ray_

Kate felt another part of herself shattering. She had brought about his destruction too. Because of her, he lived out his days criticizing and hating himself.

"I forgive you, Ray! More than that, I understand! I understand and I forgive you!" she called out to the emptiness around her. Finally letting go of all her reservations, Kate let herself properly mourn for Ray, for Tom, for Kevin, for Jack, for her own self that she had lost somewhere in the mix.

Sobbing, her despair clouding over all other thoughts, she heard from somewhere in the back of her mind Jack's voice from the first time the met, as clear as it had been that day.

_"So I just made a choice. I'd let the fear in, let it take over, let it do its thing, but only for 5 seconds, that's all I was going to give it."_

Taking in a shaky, teary breath, Kate began counting. "1...2...3...4...5."

She dried her eyes, took a deep, calming breath, and stood up from the floor that she had crumpled to after reading Ray's letter. She put the letter back in its envelope to put back in the compartment. As she was about to put it in, however, she noticed something else hidden in the inky black shadows. She stretched to pull it out, and when she brought it into the light, she saw a wad of money held by a rubber band. She did a quick estimation looking at the hundreds of one-hundred dollar bills and guess that there was about 20,000 dollars there. Most likely 23,000 dollars -- Ray's reward for turning her in.

Looking at the money, then at the envelope she held in her hand, she knew what she had to do. Run.


	7. Claire 2

Disclaimer- In Prologue

A/N- Claire is usually my favorite character to write, but I don't know if I like how this came off. It seems like a long time since I've written anything, so maybe that's it. I don't know. Anyway, let me know what you think. I'm especially curious what everyone thinks about Thomas in this chapter.

* * *

Claire chewed her food slowly. It turned to ashes in her mouth as she looked at the man sitting across the table from her. She had been starving when they had arrived at the little diner, but Thomas possibly taking Aaron away from her wasn't exactly news she liked served with her breakfast.

"Claire, I know that you think that I am insensitive and an irresponsible prick for leaving you," Thomas started.

"Oh really?" Claire cut him off acidly.

"And you are right," Thomas said, Claire's comment just glancing off of him. "Walking out on you was the worst mistake I've ever made. You have no idea how much I regret... when I see you and Aaron... when I think about what it would have been like I had stayed with you... we could have been a family."

Claire lowered her fork and looked closely and her ex-lover. Was he actually being geniune? He sounded like the Thomas she had fallen for as a teenager, not the Thomas that walked out on her as an adult. And as she looked at him, the guilt poring out of the shining eyes he dropped from her hard peircing look, she could almost see him. The poetic, soft-spoken, artistic, romantic, soccer player that she had loved. But he was older now. New lines were etched in his previously smooth face, his hairline was slowly inching back on his scalp like the ocean at low tide, his face was a little rounder, his jawline not as square. And with these physical differences she was able to remember the sound of the door slamming behind him, his angry voice still echoing around the apartment and her head.

"Why are you doing this Thomas?" she asked slowly, suspiciously.

He lifted his shameful, grieved eyes to her own unsympathetic and suspecting eyes.

"Claire, you are struggling. You shouldn't be doing this alone. Raising a child is hard enough, but you can't do it all by yourself. You don't have a job, no source of income. You've just gotten back to civilization after being stranded on an island in the middle of no where. That has to be a huge psychological shock for both you and Aaron. Plus, after having a baby, you could be going through post-partum syndrome."

"You know, Thomas, you're right. Those things are all very difficult for me right now, but the last thing I need on top of them is you calling me constantly, visiting me unannounced and threatening to sue for custody. Aaron and I are doing just fine alone."

"Claire, you can't be fine. You have no one looking out for you and Aaron. It's just the two of you. Your mother disowned you, you refuse to give me the time of day, all of our old friends were really my friends, your one friend no longer lives in Sydney. It's impossible to bring up a child without any help whatsoever. You need to get a job, where will Aaron go while you work, or while you go out interviewing? I know you've made me into this monster that is trying to steal your baby, but, Claire, I'm just thinking of what's best for you and Aaron."

As Thomas recited her list of rejections and desertions, Claire immediately thought of him, whose absense was the most raw in her heart. She wouldn't be alone if Thomas hadn't screwed things over for her as always. She didn't even know where he was. She didn't have a phone number to call, an address to visit, the name of a relative she could track down. She didn't even have a picture of him. All that she had left of him were her memories. And unfortunately the memory where she saw his face most vividly was the last time she saw him, and that was the last way she wanted to remember him.

"What's best for me and Aaron is for you to leave us alone! Look, Thomas, maybe you are being honest with me here, but I can't trust you, I can never trust you after what you did to me. How can I believe that you will stick around this time? I can't depend on you like that ever again!"

"I realize that what I did was wrong, Claire. I wish that I could undo it, but I can't. I wish that I still had you and Aaron. I wish that we were a complete family now. I wish I were more than a piece of DNA to Aaron. I wish I still had you, Claire. You have no idea what hell I went through when I heard that you had been killed in a plane crash. And how relieved I was when you walked off of that ship that brought you back to life. Seeing you with Aaron, with my son, Claire, you have no idea how gorgeous you were and how much I wanted you -- how much a want you -- back."

Claire looked critically at Thomas. Why was he doing this? This wasn't the Thomas she knew, this was the man she had wished Thomas was when she had been dating him.

"Please, Claire, give me one more chance. I swear I won't mess it up this time. I've learned my lesson."

As Claire listened to his plea for her clemency, she was reminded again of Charlie. She remembered his choked voice as she handed him his suitcase and guitar and told him to get out. She remembered him coming to see her the day after she evicted him with his own apologies and excuses and meaningless "I wish..."s. She remembered sending him away and telling him she just needed some space and that they were no more than strangers that met on a plane. She remembered the way his eyes seemed to break as she wrote off their friendship so casually. The way his whole self seemed to break after that.

"Thomas, I can't give you another chance. I can't trust you again. Ever. You walked out on me, remember? You can't just walk back in whenever is best for you."

Thomas' face, that had been so stricken with his regret, suddenly contorted with his anger, like a child denied a cookie after he had been caught trying to steal one.

"Aaron is my son, Claire. I have the right to be his father!" he said, raising his voice at the same time lowering the volume of the noisy diner. Claire blushed as twenty pairs of eyes looked at the estranged couple.

After their interest waned, Claire replied to Thomas in an angry whisper. "That's it, isn't it? That's what your act is about? _Oh, I want to be a part of your life, Claire. I want to be a family. I'm just trying to help you out._ It's just an excuse, a shortcut to getting to be Aaron's father! Well, forget it, Thomas! You will _never_ be Aaron's father, I don't care what his DNA says."

Claire pulled a contented Aaron out of his highchair, totally oblivious to the war that had been going on in front of him. She stormed out of the diner, hugging her son tight to her chest.

"You'll never go to him, Aaron. I promise you, you will never go to your bastard of a father."


End file.
